


Scoundrels

by orphan_account



Series: Scoundrels Collection [1]
Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: AU, Abuse of Power, Alternate Universe, Body Horror, Cameo Appearances of Original Characters, Character Death, Child Abduction, Child Abuse, Crime Units, Criminal Psychology, Cult Related Crimes, Death, Generous use of death, Graphic Depictions of Medical Abuse and Techniques, Graphic Violence, Graphic and Unusual Deaths, Hurt/Comfort, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Multi, Murder, Neglect, Police Forces, Psychic Warfare, Psychological Warfare, Religious Affiliations, Religious Rituals, Ritualistic Killings, Scoundrels of Paris, Sexual Assault, Suicide, Torture, physical assault, poorly written French, psychological abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-01-19 07:55:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1461640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Civilization was turned on its head after the introduction and publicity of a gene in the human DNA sequence- one that turned children’s skin grey, their blood coloured, and occasionally [but rarely] gifted them with abilities beyond that of a normal human being. Persecution resulted from the differences between ‘humans’ and ‘genetic deviants’ some small organization banded together, forming a separate hierarchy and cultural system for the deviants, often called trolls.<br/>Karkat Vantas is one such deviant, rare even by troll standards. When circumstances throw him and others into a whirlwind of death and brutality, how will he stop a killer, and save himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mix and Mash

**Author's Note:**

> The following is inspired by a lyricstuck by Tumblr user moc-tod-ffuts-modnar. I do not claim ownership of Homestuck or any affiliated character. The following is my first mystery/crime related story written for any fandom. The plot is written, the deaths are set.  
> The stage is ready.

Daylight brings vision to the city, lighting the tops of streetlights, illuminating each crack in the sidewalk, and revealing the endings to the epics of the night. Skyscrapers stretch simultaneously, standing out against the pale blue sky. Not a single cloud hinders the brightness that reaches nearly every corner and crevice of the urban landscape. Most passersby fail to appreciate the clarity of the morning, especially at such an early hour of the day. Birds are shuffled into the background noises of cars and conversations stretching from cafes to workplaces. It is a Thursday, during an average April day. The smell of exhaust is softer on the air than usual, mixed with the hint of spring flowers waking up in storefronts and plant boxes. Children laugh as they await school busses, adults chatting heartily on the way to work. An artist tries to capture the day on his canvas, while a poet tries their hand at some verses.  
Elsewhere, away from the light and clarity, dumped unceremoniously in the relative poverty of a rundown part of town, there is a man waking up. A young man, marred by the grey hue of his skin and the dark red flooding his irises. His alarm blares, once, twice, three times before he slams a callused hand on the off button. There is no sunlight filtering through his windows, as it is blocked by the shades strewn before the glass. No conversations or laughter fill the small, one bedroom house. Only the sleepy grumbling of the man marks the silence in the building. He dresses, eats, and puts on a light jacket, hoping to prevent sunburn on his gray complexion. Outside, he sees only a few people, stumbling home to go to bed as is customary in the morning. He scoffs, and enters the patrol car he has parked in his meager backyard.  
His name is Karkat Vantas, and he is deviant. His genes separate him from the majority of the world, colouring his eyes and skin and hair, changing his teeth and his body to make him less than human. Of course, he resents this, as do most who’ve been slapped with labels such as genetically deviant, or ‘trolls’ as most refer to them as. Things that once were human, changed by evolution and isolated by others they once called family. There are very few benefits- mild strength, speed, and endurance increases for example. Some receive further mutations, higher on the official Spectrum. Psychics, telekinetics, persecuted for their abilities moreso than others. But not Karkat, no, not the twenty-four year old police officers with red eyes and red blood and a dead end job at the Deviant Specific Task Force.  
He enjoys the negatives, the sensitivity to sunlight, the sharp teeth, the biology.  
The prejudice, persecution, and isolation gifted to anyone like him.  
It goes without saying that life has little to offer for him, for now.

 

Karkat drives the same, monotonous route to his workplace, where the conservative building greets him with cold, concrete angles. He enters the building, clutching a cup of coffee like a lifeline.  
“Fun times during day shift, huh Karkles?”  
The nasally voice of officer Terezi wakes Karkat from his trance like state, and he growls in response. She cackles, and throws an arm around his slumped shoulders.  
“Just kill me before i do it myself.”  
He grumbles, rolling his eyes and planting himself at his desk. Terezi follows, grinning and bearing her needle-like teeth. She’s blind, but has the uncanny ability to smell and taste her way through life. Any normal human would be unable to be a police officer- obviously, she enjoys a perk to the whole ‘troll’ life.  
“What is it you want, Pyrope? I’m willing to bet I’ve got a fuckton of paperwork to do, and I’m not in the mood to listen to you ramble.”  
Karkat huffs. His eyes fix themselves to the computer monitor, uninterested by his companions hovering. Across the office, another officer pipes up.  
“The’th acthually got thomething to thay, and you’re going to wisth you thtayed in bed.”  
“Did I _ask_ for your opinion, O-Lithpy-One?”  
Karkat snaps, glaring at the heterochromic deviant typing away at his computer. Two special fingers flick up in response. Terezi slams her crane against Karkat’s desk impatiently.  
“Ahem! The senior officer would like everyone to stop spreading their unnecessary opinions now,” she starts, eyebrows slanting down in warning. Karkat and Sollux grumble under their breaths but say nothing.  
“We’re getting a new case today, working together with the Strange and Unique Crimes force collaboratively,” Karkat groans, earning another glare from the speaking officer, “to investigate three connected murders occurring at approximately 2200 hours last night.”  
“Oh goody,” Sollux mutters, “nothing like a therial killer for breakfatht.”

Two hours afterwards, a pair of blonde, alarmingly human siblings enter the police station. The taller of the two is male, dressed in a white collared shirt and carrying a black jacket with red accents in his right arm. Classy sunglasses rest atop his eyes, and platinum blonde hair dust the tops of the glasses, styled messily. Beside him walks a young lady, her pale hair in a meticulously neat and even bob. She dons a classic inverness wool cape coat, the collar supporting a purple scarf. An elegant black skirt flows down to her knees, slender legs peeking from beneath the hem.  
The two enter confidently, the boy immediately throwing his jacket on a hanger and planting himself on a desk. Terezi rushes over and shakes the girl’s hand.  
“Hi there, nice to meet ya fresh meat! I’m Terezi Pyrope, senior officer here. Sollux Captor is the grumpy 3D guy trying to hide in binary land, and over there is Karkat Grumps Vantas. You must be the SUC officers!”  
The blonde girl smiles, and nods politely, her lips tight.  
“Yes. My name is Rose Lalonde. I’m not officially officer per se, but rather a psychologist assigned to consult on such crimes as the one presented today. This is my brother, Dave Strider. He is much more intelligent than he seems, however, remains incapable of using water or deodorant. For this, I apologize in advance.”  
Dave’s head snapped up at the last bit, and he replied afterwards.  
“For the last time, the smell in the car is not my fault, it’s the car’s.”

Karkat does his best to ignore the conversation, focusing more on printing out the final pictures on the crime scene. He gathers his papers and enters the debriefing room, framed by glass on three sides. The papers are pinned to the board by the time everyone gathers in the room, minus Sollux who already read ahead for the day. Dave makes himself comfortable beside Terezi, who hands over the session to Rose. The psychologist clears her throat as Karkat sits next to Dave. Better she can start speaking, Karkat feels an intrusive poke in his side. Dave poker faces beside him and Karkat hisses.  
“Why’d you do that?”  
“Do what?”  
“Poke me!”  
“I did no such thing, Officer Vantas.”  
“Yes you did, just now-”  
Another sharp jab and Karkat realizes this douchebag’s game. A small grin creeps onto Dave’s face, and Karkat forces himself to look forwards.

“Last night, as you all know, three people were murdered- all humans. The crime is believed to have been perpetrated by a genetic deviant, which is why we are working together on this.”  
Rose pins up three murders, each depicting a rather violent scene. Dave frowns at the images, and Karkat notices that his face becomes a little bit somber. Which makes him look even more annoying. Yeah, that’s what Karkat’s thinking. And he is also, most definitely, not trying to reassure himself of that fact. Terezi’s voice shakes him from his mental tirade.

“The victims were found in a warehouse storing puppets. Victim one is strung up higher than the other two, creating a suspended pyramid or triangle. Victim three, on the bottom right, is a forty year old caucasian female whose been identified as Mara Ross, a preschool teacher in a human elementary school. She lives alone, but has a mother on the north end of town. Twelve thick strings can be seen puncturing her hands, shoulder, midsection, and scalp. Her body shows signs of burning and freezing, with discoloured skin. All the victims share that in common, along with their original clothing being replaced with white robes. Ms. Ross’ eyes seemed to have been forcibly removed from her skull and placed in either hand. The marks around her eyes suggest that they were scooped out with someone’s claws, and we can attribute her cause of death to a severed spine.”  
Rose nods, and gestures to the next victim, the one on the bottom left of the pyramid.  
“Joseph Calligun, twenty six year old African American bartender at the Dive operating downtown. Reported missing two weeks ago, and strung up here, with the same number of strings in the same places. He shows signs of malnutrition and we found a number of drugs in his system. his vocal chords were surgically removed, but his tongue was ripped from his mouth by hand. Cause of death seems to point towards him drowning in his own blood.”  
Rose continues, finally reaching the third victim.  
“Madeline Vrestachen, German exchange student at St. Gabe’s high school. Nineteen year old, African American female, strung up just like the other two, but with a bloody smiley face carved into her abdomen. As well, her face is stitched into a smile. Cause of death seems to be blood loss, and it is believed that she hung for four and a half hours before death. The first and last victims were not reported missing, and have not been missing for more than twenty-four hours.”  
Karkat speaks first after Rose finished, eyes peeling away from the graphic pictures painting a tragic story on the board.  
“What kind of killer are we looking for? What do the victims have in common, and is there a motive?”  
Terezi shakes her head, a solitary finger tapping the head of her cane in thought. everyone in the room is serious, somber, especially the two ladies leading the conversation.  
“We’re looking for a serial killer who knows what they’re doing. We believe the display of the victims has religious affiliation, suggesting either a narcissistic personality who views themselves as God, or a fanatic with a desire to please. Either way, the perpetrator is careful, concise, and organized. They are strong and quick enough to subdue three human beings, stitching them and hanging them precisely. The pattern of the wounds, all made prior to the deaths of the victims, suggests a ritualistic killing. Dried wax found in the room is thought to have originated from black candles, and designs painted on the floor and windows suggest satanic or otherwise cult-like behaviour.”  
Dave nods and stands, gesturing towards his sister.  
“Should we look over the crime scene?”  
He inquires, more as a formality than anything. Imagine his shock when Rose declines.  
“Go with officer Vantas. You two should get used to working together. Terezi and i are going to cross-reference the victims and interview families.”

 

The car ride to the scene was unbearable. Dave insisted on listening to some sort of dance/rave album, which attacked Karkat’s sensitive hearing like an angry wasp stuck in your ear. The two argued over whether or not the electronic shrieking was actually music, and eventually Karkat won the argument, earning radio silence. Dave mumbled something along the lines of _’I’ll show_ you _real music_ ’ before they arrived at the crime scene.  
The coroner had already removed the bodies, so Dave and Karkat wandered into the large steel warehouse with a little less caution than usual. The two looked over the scene without finding anything terribly interesting.  
“Think we can leave early?”  
Dave asks, his eyes scanning the room once again from behind his lenses. Karkat scoffs in response and straightens his stance.  
“What, thinking of slacking off?”  
“Not really, Vantas. It’s just that the scene has already been combed over a gazillion and two times, and no one’s found anything new in a while. Unless…”  
Dave pauses, and treads lightly over to a spot on the floor. The dust the coats the entire warehouse, save for where crime investigators had tread, was still everywhere. The murderer had been clever enough to not leave footprints, which led to the question _how did they get in and out?_  
Karkat follows the investigators gaze to a conveniently stacked pile of crates. He doesn’t make the connection, but is patient enough to wait for an explanation as to why his fellow officer is gazing upwards at the ceiling. Dave cracks a smirk, and hops up the crates. The grey skinned officer can’t help but be impressed by the agility and strength Dave shows as he nimbly climbs to the highest crate. Once there, the officer runs his hands along the ceiling, looking for something. A groan sounds, and Karkat witnesses Dave lift a portion of the roof up and away.  
“Com’on.”  
Dave encourages, already heaving himself onto the roof. Karkat grumbles about ‘being able to figure that out himself’ and follows, having a bit more difficulty climbing the crates than his paler counterpart. The two emerge onto the roof, with a spectacular view of the warehouse district.  
“What are we looking for? Or did you just want to derp around on the fucking rooftop?”  
Karkat asks, squinting against the evening sun setting in the distance. Dave is silent, gazing around. Eventually, the troll gives up on ever getting a response and sits down. The two remain still for a few minutes, before Karkat jumps to his feet and shouts.  
“There!”  
Far from where his fingers points, a tall shadow slips in between two warehouses, obviously observing the crime scene. Dave wastes no time, jumping across to another roof. Karkat rushes to his vehicle, pushing aside several officers still at the scene. He starts the car and drives to the area where he last saw the figure. A few rooftops behind him, Dave struggles to keep speed, his human eyes restricting his view in the dark. Karkat has no such limitations, and spots a glimpse of movement to his right. He ditches the car and hurries on foot. His eyes pick up only the silhouette of whomever he is chasing. He rounds a corners, entering a back alley, and a dead end. Ahead of him though, there is no one else. However, something on the wall catches his eyes and Karkat stumbles, gasping for breath and speechless at the grotesque sight. Soon enough, Dave turns the corner, and opens his mouth to ask where the runner had gotten off too; that is, until his eyes land on Karkat’s shell shocked face.  
“What, you look like you’ve seen-”  
He stops as he follows Karkat’s gaze. Even with his light suited eyes, Dave can make out the horrifying sight before them in tragic clarity.

“My God.”


	2. Shades and Silhouettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take a breath, a sip of coffee. Drink now, 'cause tonight your mind's on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter, perhaps? I had to write something up, here ya go!

Later that evening, when the gruesome painting is accented by yellow tape lines and flashing cameras, Karkat finally finds himself being ushered into his vehicle. His eyes are wide, and he tries his absolute best not to glance to his right, not to lay eyes on the disgusting display of loyalty that he never thought possible. His hands are shaking, and he finds his breath is coming in shallow gasps. Beside him, slouching in a position similar to his own, Dave is trying to calm himself as well. Eventually, the blonde turns to Karkat and speaks in a monotone, if hoarse, voice.  
“You alrigh-”  
“Shut the fuck up.”  
He snaps back, and Dave’s hands shoot up in surrender before turning to the steering wheel and starting the car. Karkat shudders and turns to his window.  
As they drive away from the scene, a two pairs of red eyes glimpse once more at the abomination on the wall. 

Karkat’s not sure, but he has the faintest idea that the splatters of colour, tinged with the sharp tang of blood, will be burned on the backs of his eyelids. He doubts he’ll ever _unsee_ the huge painting, the thick strokes of blood blending from one colour to the next in the shockingly familiar caricature of a smiley face. The dried, morbid face hinting at innocence will prod his subconscious for the rest of his life, accompanied by only the horrors one might come to expect of a police officer.   
“Karkat?”  
A voice shakes the officer out of his stupor, and he realizes that they are no longer near the crime scene, but rather close to the station. The troll takes a shuddering breath and turns to Dave, hiding his thoughts through the furrow of his brow and the slight curl he enacts on his upper lip.  
“What,” he spits, with more venom than anticipated.  
There is a silence before his companion decides to talk again.  
“Listen, if you need to talk about what just happened, I’m sure-”  
“I’m fine.”  
“Karkat…”  
He bares his teeth, hands clenching into fists to channel his frustration. Before Karkat could even think of a reply, he found himself snapping at Dave.   
“What part of fine do you not fucking understand?! I don’t need you to start fretting, I mean, I barely even fucking know you, so butt out!”  
“Well, glad to know that you have no emotions whatsoever and can handle anything that comes your way. Glad to know you’re not upset.”  
The sarcasm dripped heavily into the conversation, and it was all Karkat could do to not lunge across the car and wrap his hands around the smug officer’s neck. He very nearly growled, and swore a bit in the slang used by deviants, making use of his upper and lower vocal cords. Dave’s eyebrow tilts in response, but he says nothing. To Karkat, that’s the final straw, and he exits the car huffily before stomping his way into the police station.  
Once he enters, Terezi is the first to ‘greet’ him.  
“Oh, did your feelings get squished,” she smirks, pointed teeth exposed in a grin.  
Karkat glares, saying nothing but quietly killing Terezi at least 47 times in his mind. He continues to Sollux’ desk and proceeds to sit on it, ignoring Dave as the latter enters the station.   
“Sollux, I want you to find a symbol for me.”  
Karkat mutters, as he grabs a pen and jots down the smiley face he witnessed, ignoring the twang of nausea that passes through his stomach. _I’m tougher than a bit of blood_ , he tells himself, pushing away the scrap paper regardless. Sollux picks it up, and pushes his eyebrows together in thought. He sighs and begins typing on the computer.   
Fifteen minutes pass before Sollux looks back up to Karkat with his retro 3D gaze.   
“Though I apprethiate your asth overheating my dethk, I’d like to be able to do thome thearching alone.”  
Karkat huffs in response, and makes to leave. The day had been long, and outside, the sun’s rays had long since dipped below the horizon. He grabs his jacket and makes his way towards the front door. A hand grabs his arm before he can slip his jacket back on.  
“Care for a ride?”

 

And thus, Karkat finds himself in a car with the insufferable Strider once more. The two are quiet, despite the long half hour it takes to drive to Karkat’s residence. Karkat is settled with the silence, until a certain companion decides to break it in two.  
“Are you sure you’re okay? That was some pretty freaky stuff back there.”  
More exasperated than angry at this point in time (it’s been a long day), the shorter of the two runs a hand through his tangled black hair and grumbles out a reply.  
“For the last time, I’m fine. You’re really fucking nosy, y’know. What, did your parents teach you to annoy the fuck out of everyone you meet, or are you just picky?”  
There is silence after this, and Dave presses his lips together. Unknownst to Karkat, the human is trying to think of a way to attempt a bond between the two. Trying times could result in unsavoury consequences if the two cannot get along.  
“Actually, my parents are dead, died when I was younger. Raised by my brother.”  
Dave says, a little quieter than he wanted to. Beside him, Karkat sits up a little straight, and feels his neck grow warm. No one says anything for a solid five minutes before the troll decides to reply in kind.  
“Me too. Well, sorta. Foster care.”  
“Harsh.”  
“Yup.”

The rest of the ride passes uneventfully, and in silence.

 

 

Karkat is sipping his fourth cup of coffee for the day when Eridan finally shows up for work. The grey skinned troll arrives in a fashionable leather jacket and scarf, which Karkat will make sure to poke fun at. The fishier of the two has an inclination towards fashion, and pays no expense to make sure he is dressed for success. Not that money is a problem, what with the Amporas being notable military figureheads (well, except for Cronus, but he was disowned from the family- the paparazzi had a field day).   
“Wwell, wwhat’s happening?”  
Eridan speaks up, settling into his desk and grabbing the file in front of him. Terezi’s partner, Nepeta, had put together a case file at home. Sometimes, Karkat wishes that he could have a more productive partner, and not Fishface.   
“What, you lose your ability to fucking read? Guess those glasses are as useless as they look.”  
“Ouch, bitter today, are wwe?”

In a few minutes, after he finishes his reading, Eridan is no longer cheeky, and places the paper before him. His gills, subtle on either side of his head/neck, are flushed a little more purple than they were before. Karkat grimaces, and sips once more at his coffee.  
“Oh.”  
Eridan murmurs.  
“Yup.”  
“And you had to find…”  
“A-yup.”  
“But that’s just…”  
“Mhm.”  
“Oh.”  
The two sit for several minutes, Eridan looking off-put by the case and Karkat grumpily reading through comments made by the coroners while nursing himself with a black cup of coffee. Eridan clears his throat, and begins working at his computer. With a glance around the room, he ascertains that Solux has stayed home, and opens his email to find a message for the team. He saves it for later, seeing the bags under Karkat’s eyes. He can check this out himself, later, and without the exhaustion of having his partner upset and tired along with him.  
How dangerous could the one lead be, anyways?

 

It’s about noon when Dave decides to show up at the station. His sister nods at him from Terezi’s desk, where the two are trying to profile the killer with the autopsy reports (to no avail). Without any hesitation, he makes his way to Karkat’s desk and sits on it. The latter stops typing, and pinches the bridge of his nose before reaching for a painkiller. The human is a walking headache, and knows it. Enjoys it even.  
“So, oh Karkalicious, mind going to lunch with me?”  
“Karkalicious?”  
The troll regrets his ponderous tone as soon as the words are out from between his chapped lips.  
“Fergalicious.”  
Dave states, as though that makes any difference to the troll. Karkat shows no reaction whatsoever, blinking with a deadpan face.   
“Dude, Fergie? Fabulous, Fergalicious, makes the men go crazy?”  
A blank stare is his only reply.  
“Jesus Christ son, you live in a hole. A sad, sorry hole. Luckily for you, I’m here to make your day 20% cooler.”  
“You literally just got here, and you’re going to drag us both off to lunch? I’ve got better things to do.”  
Dave frowns as Karkat turns back to his computer, typing away at another email from the supervisor (Terezi really shouldn’t send stupid chain mails at work).  
“Karkat. We’re having lunch.”  
“No.”  
“Yes.”  
“No!”  
“ _Hell yes_.”  
“No!”

 

Staring out the passenger window, the troll realizes just how stupid trying to argue with the blonde dumbass is. Especially when he’s dragged from his desk regardless of personal opinion, while Rose covers her sinister snickers with her hand and Terezi full on guffaws.   
Yeah, it’s incredibly stupid.  
“Where are we even going?”  
Karkat inquires, curiosity ruling over common sense at the moment. Dave grins, and he’s sure that underneath those ridiculous sunglasses, the human is winking at him.   
“It’s a surprise.”  
He mumbles something about hating surprises under his breath, but relaxes a bit more. his head rests in his hand, elbow on the edge of the open window. A thought occurs, one that pokes fun at the fact that Karkat feels mildly comfortable around Dave.  
The thought is executed immediately.

Soon, the two pull over, and exit the vehicle. Around them, a narrow road is lined with booths and small crowds, meager at best. It takes Karkat a moment to decipher where they are, through the moderate noise and fresh smell in the air. His eyes widen a little when he realizes.  
“A farmer’s market?”  
Dave shrugs, and gestures to the booths nearest to them. There is something almost shy about this movement, but Karkat doesn’t comment on it, and Dave returns to his overconfident stance in a matter of seconds.  
“Yeah man- straight from the source, none of that shipping and spraying nonsense. This is the freshest shit you’ll ever eat. Unless you are the farmer. But you should never be the farmer.”  
Karkat narrows his eyes, “why shouldn’t you-”  
Dave turns and grabs his shoulders, face serious.  
“Never. Be. The. Farmer.”

Before Karkat can fish out a rebuttal to the grabby officer, the two hear a shout. A scream follows, and the sound of flesh being sliced through with a thick squeal. It takes seconds for the officers to sprint to the alley where two trolls continue to fight. A third is one the ground, gurgling before his head jerks to the side and his eyes focus on nothing. Dave crouches, taking his pulse while Karkat whips out his handgun with practised finesse.  
“Drop your weapons!”  
He orders, but the two fighters ignore him. To his right, he glimpses another gun from Dave’s hands. In front of them, the opponents battle with too much speed to hit.

The alley blocks out most light, meaning what is seen is seen in silhouettes and shades. the taller of the two wields twin clubs, while the shorter brandishes twin blades, one stained with the same shade of teal that stains the corpse against the wall. Karkat opens his mouth to order once more, preparing to pull the trigger when it happens.  
The bladed battler lunges forwards, and slashes at their enemy, managing to cut the cloth of the agile troll. Seeing their opportunity, the one with the clubs swings up, knocking back their opponents cheek. A bullet fires, and grazes their shoulder, but the troll had already moved to the left of their dazed foe. The matching club comes down, and a body hits the ground writhing in pain. There is no hesitation as the victor brings their foot down with the sickeningly wet crack of their victim’s skull. Dave shouts something about dropping weapons, but the remaining troll looks at Karkat and freezes up, stepping back and disappearing into the darkness of the alley.  
The two officers don’t bother to chase him, and Karkat swallows his guilt when he realizes where he’s seen that shadowy figure before.

That night, he sleeps with images of tall monsters painting bloody faces on his walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr is vampydefenderoftherealm, follow me, or just reblog the link to this fanfiction!


	3. Stone Remnants and Fibreglass Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stained glass windows offer protection from preying eyes.  
> {from preying minds}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reblog on tumblr if you want others to see this- I appreciate it a lot.

Rose sips at her coffee, sharp gaze focused on her conversational partner. The noises of quiet conversation and the occasional orders given to the cashier are background noise, mentally muted in favour of the words being exchanged at their current table. Terezi sits across from her, not bothering to copy the straight back and crossed legs that Rose employs as her position. The two could not look any stranger- Rose wearing a cropped jean jacket matched with her lavender tank top and horizontally striped, black and white skirt, while Terezi donned a loose, bright red t-shirt that went well with her light yellow pants. Beneath the table, a pair of converse and a pair of high heels clicked against the legs of their owners’ chairs.   
“-and anyways, what’s even the point of having such strict division boundaries? I mean, justice is justice and we should all be seeking the same goal.”  
Terezi finishes, seemingly exasperated with the lack of support on her dreams of the forces being united for the common good. Rose allows the corner of her lip to twitch up, and takes in the comfortable way that Terezi is lounging on her chair, sipping away at the cool drink in her hand.   
“And what goal would that be, exactly?”   
Terezi scoffed, “mine of course.”  
A mischievous cackle followed, and Rose briefly pondered whether or not it was possible for someone as young as Terezi to cackle and not seem overly disturbing.   
The thought was amusing.

“What did you gather from our interviews with the families?”  
Rose inquires. The two of them had, prior to the current day, met with the three families [well, two families and one host family] of the victims. The mother of the first victim had blamed the police themselves, even going so far as to throw a chair at Terezi [though the troll did make fun of her photos on the walls]. The second ‘family’ consisted of a brother whose reaction to his sibling’s death was nonchalance and a ‘dunnit s’prise me’. That interview had left Rose quiet for some while, while Terezi didn’t dare ask. Finally, the host family was devastated and the actual family distraught when contacted.   
“Those people know nothing. If they were individual cases, I would’ve suspected the families,” Terezi answers easily, taking a loud slurp of her frozen lemonade.   
Rose raises an eyebrow, amused.  
“Even the host family.”  
Feigning sobriety, Terezi leans forwards and lowers her red lensed glasses.  
“ _Especially_ the host family.”

 

In one of the older districts of town, there stands a massive stone church. Not much has survived from older days, but the stony grey building stands tall- a relic from the 1700s. Stained glass windows stretch tall, adorning the front of the building with beautiful colours. The large wooden doors are usually closed, their heavy oak blocking the three front entrances, all side by side. On the east side of the church, the bell tower tolls each hour to alert nearby citizens to the time. At the bottom of the steps leading up to the church, three figures stand, preparing to enter. 

“So the dude with the funky 3D glasses said we should check here?”  
Dave asks as his companions and he begin the ascent towards the entrance, a low hymn in the air, barely audible but carrying an ominous air.   
“Sollux, and yeah. Apparently that creepy-ass symbol at the first crime scene was a religious symbol. I’m surprised we didn’t notice it right away.”  
Karkat replies, jotting something down in a notebook he had brought with him. To his right, Eridan gazes up at the high arches before the trio. Confused as to what he could mean, Dave opens his mouth to ask but is cut off by the gilled troll.   
“Don’t evven ask. There’s an ancient cult that’s been linked to lotsa mysterious evvents- they’re all about wwhimsies and clowwns and carnies and a buncha other creepy shit. Problem is that the wwhole thing’s run by some highbloods so you can’t really get too invvolvved. This church wwas claimed by a French branch a wwhile ago.”

Dave frowns, unhappy with the explanation. It is a well known fact that the hierarchy and culture of the trolls is old, really old, and a lot of mystery is wrapped around what blood colour affects, brain and body wise. Regardless, highblooded trolls are respected and revered- some blood colours even have human-run cults that worship them like gods.   
The thought runs shivers down his arms, and suddenly the balmy air seems to drop in temperature. 

Upon their arrival at the doors, the three stop. Karkat raises a hand and knocks on the door, announcing in a clear, crisp tone who they are.  
“Police! Open up.”  
A few moments pass, and no one answers. The muffled, indistinct voice previously singing is now speaking, though the words are not clear. Finally, Eridan pushes on the door- and surprise- it swings open with little effort. As it does so, a grey skinned woman jumps forwards with teeth bared and eyes wide.

“Oh hi!” She yells, grinning even as Karkat winces from the volume. Her curly, wild hair frizzes this way and that, falling over the torn sleeves of her black and grey clothes. Olive details hint at her blood colour, and Karkat is taken aback at the similarity between her and Nepeta, though the stranger is taller and more robust.

“We need to come in and ask a few questions, Ms….?”  
“Leijon, Meulin Leijon.”  
“Oh,” Eridan pipes up. “Are you of any relation to Nepeta Leijon?”  
The smile is banished from the trolls face, and she turns to glare at Eridan. Crossing her arms, she scoffs before replying in a cold edge.  
“Not anymore, no. If that’s what you’re after, you’ll have to be going now.”  
“Er- no, that’s not wwhat wwe’re here for, that wwas just my owwn curiosity gettin’ the best o’ me.”

Embarrassment plasters itself on Eridan’s face in bright violet hues as the three are ushered in. The mass has ceased and there is silence as they all enter the main ceremonial chamber. On either side of the room, pews are set up, reminiscent of bleachers in ascending order. A few stragglers kneel at the pews, hushed prayers slipping from their quivering lips. The long hall in the middle is painted with collages and scenes depicting battles, carnivals, and other slightly revolting images that do not exactly spell out ‘child-friendly, community involved family centre’. Karkat’s eyes narrow as he pays close attention, noticing that there are few religious figures around. He turns back towards Dave and Ms. Leijon, not caring to note Eridan’s absence. 

“-which is why we’d like to ask you a few questions.”  
Dave finishes, and Ms. Leijon nods.  
“That’s fine and all, but mew must purrsue this conversation with my partner as well as myself,” she replies in her too loud tone.  
“Yes, that should be-”  
“KURLOZ!”  
Ms. Leijon’s ear-splitting voice tears through the air with its too-high tone, and Karkat fights the urge to weep. Before long, a tall, slender figure made its way gracefully towards the gathering. His robes were long and flowed as though weightless as the painted troll drew nearer. His hair, just as Ms. Leijon’s, is curly and out of control, but his is shorter and somehow fits- not that much would seem out of place next to the clown-like, slightly skeletal painting ordaining the man’s face. Most off-putting are the six neatly places stitches running from upper to lower lip, left side to right. For a moment, Dave averts his eyes, watching instead as Karkat looks a bit sick and thanking whatever deity is listening for his own beloved sunglasses hiding his frightened eyes. It is too quiet then, and Dave speaks- regretting the words the instant they leave his mouth.  
“Wicked paint man- you the clownmaster?”  
The deadpan that follows is so hostile it hurts, and Karkat clears his throat to distract the couple.   
“Again, Kurloz, is it? We’d like to ask the two of you some questions. First of all, do you recognize any of these people?”  
And out come the photos, all three showing victims from the crime scene- post clean-up. Kurloz looks over each one carefully before passing them one by one to Meulin. Meulin looks at Kurloz when handed the second picture- the one of the twenty six year old bartender, Joseph. for a second, Karkat swears that her eyes flash purple, but there’s nothing there. Suddenly, Meulin’s fingers are flying and Kurloz responds in kind.   
“What are you doing?”  
Karkat asks, more than a little concerned about the strange gestures. Meulin stares at him and smiles once again.  
“Sorry about that! Kurloz can’t talk as you see, and I’m deaf so we find it easier to communicate through sign language. Besides, we both recognize this one- his name is Joseph, right? He was supposed to work community service here but didn’t show up a few times in a row. We reported him missing two weeks ago.”  
The girl stops and frowns, looking juvenile and unassuming.  
“Have you found him, is he all right?”  
“He’s dead, ma’am.”  
Dave interrupts, and as Meulin’s face falls even more, Karkat is glad he didn’t have to tell her. Kurloz wraps an arm around her shoulder as she sniffs and rubs at her eyes.  
“Wh-what happened?!”  
She practically shouts, emotion getting the best of her self-control. Dave frowns.  
“He was murdered alongside two others about three days ago. We found a symbol affiliated with your religion at both this crime scene and one nearby. Do you know anything about that?”

Meulin stops crying long enough to look at Kurloz, who signs something. Relaying the message, she manages to squeak out.  
“N-No. K-Kurloz and I were doing a special mass here, c-celebrating the ann-anniversary of our opening an-and getting ready for the W-Week of th-the Dead.”   
Karkat raises an eyebrow, jotting down in his notebook the unfamiliar term. as Dave begins to ask a few more questions, the troll gets distracted and meanders from the group a bit. Eridan has returned to the car to call Sollux with some question, and the few stragglers have mostly left by now. There are a few young children in church robes being ushered by a supervisor, but otherwise the church is dead.  
To his right, someone moves in the shadows of one of the stone columns. Karkat tenses, seeing an all-too-familiar silhouette beside him. In the dark, the light catches on a bit of the stranger’s clothing, showing bare feet covered in grey skin. Karkat walks forwards, intent on learning who this person is [and why he was at a crime scene, and why he killed someone, and why he’s always two steps ahead] when a loud voice cries out.  
“MR. VANTAS, STOP!”  
Meulin’s yowl carries across the room, and Karkat looks towards her to see surprise coating her olive-rimmed eyes while Kurloz scowls menacingly behind her. When he turns back to where the shadow was standing, the person is gone.  
 _Damn._ Karkat curses the lost opportunity as he returns to the others, fire raging in his chest.   
“Who was that over there?”   
He demands, and a pout tugs at Meulin’s dark grey lips.  
“No one. It’s late and you need to go now.”  
Karkat bristles, “who was it?!”  
But already, Meulin has begun escorting Dave and him to the entrance from whence they came. Before he leaves the building, Karkat spots Kurloz in the back of the hall, staring at something- no, some _one_ \- in the shadows. Kurloz turns and glares at Karkat as though he could feel the troll’s eyes on him.

As Dave and he leave, he could swear that he heard someone whisper in the back of his head- ‘get out’.   
Outside, the cold air nips at Karkat’s nose, turning it a light shade of red. Dave snickers a bit as they walk towards the car where Eridan appears to be rocking out to muffled music. It takes a second but Dave speaks up.  
“So, thoughts about church?”  
“I’d be blind, deaf, and dumb not to suspect them.”  
“Is this the part where I put on my shades and say ‘mass is in session’?”  
Karkat narrows his eyes at his pseudo-partner.  
“What?”  
His only reply is Dave’s obnoxiously loud ‘awwwww yeaaaah’ as they get into the car.  
And even as they drive away, Karkat stares back at the church, and at the opaque windows. Goosebumps prickle on his skin and he gets the distinct feeling of being watched.

 

_/Tu deves être prudent, frere./_  
/Je sais./  
/Faite-tu?/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Don't laugh at me, cause I am only a little bilingual.
> 
> Tu deves etre prudent - You must be careful  
> Je sais - I know  
> Faites-tu - Do you?


	4. Black Roses, False Condolences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life is fickle, fickle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh good, back into death. I like writing these murders way too much for my own good.

Music, if it could be called that, assault Rose’s ears upon entering the club. Looks are thrown at the young lady, the only one not dressed in trashy, revealing clothing that left little to the imagination. Dim lighting only increases the migraine brought on by flashing electrical lights, and not for the first time, Rose curses her brother’s despicable hobby of DJing. An electrical song thrums through the club, and though the music is not terrible, the setting is repulsive.  
Scoffing at yet another drunken teenager, the criminal psychologist resolves to find her brother quickly and leave before another intrigued stranger decides to ogle her. 

“Hey, didn’t expect to see you here.”  
While the music attacks the area, a distinct voice is almost drowned out. Rose turns to face her brother, and rather than waste her breath attempting to speak amidst the crowd, she raises a hand and gestures to the nearest exit. Dave’s smirk falls, and he places his glass back on the counter before rising to follow.  
Once outside, Rose wastes no time in beginning her explanation.

“There’s been another.”

 

 

The bright flash of a camera illuminates the dimly lit crime scene. Karkat is already kneeling beside the throne, and the mental image of a knight kneeling to his king flashes through Dave’s mind. Closer to the entrance, Terezi and Rose converse about connections and the psychology, futilely trying to profile the killer. Something about the crimes tells Dave that they won’t be able to piece whoever this is together.  
There are a few lights set up my investigators, but they fail to chase away the shadows that hang on the macabre scene before him. A beaten old throne, a faded old photograph sits before him, speaking of better days in which the throne would sit, adorned with gold. Two crowns hang on the backrest, rusted and brittle. The one sitting in the throne is painstakingly positioned, threads and wires maintaining a rigid, regal position. Blood soaks the feet of the modified corpse, human and troll.  
The corpse itself is a monstrosity.

Pieces of human and troll alike are sewn together, a mock ragdoll full of sharp teeth and grey skin, blonde hair and mismatched eyes. Quietly, the detective thanks his forethought to not eat on the way, else he may very well have compromised the crime scene. Before Dave can speak to Karkat, Eridan approaches him.   
“Wwe found evvidence of at least fivve different bodies being used to make this one.”   
The fish troll begins, motioning towards a stack of paper in his hands.   
“All unidentified?”  
Dave inquires, skimming the pages. All this earns him is a shrug before Eridan leaves to speak to a shorter troll with olive tinged cheeks.

“Gruesome.”  
He mutters, beside Karkat now. The shorter of the two is focused, but quiet- far too quiet. The two work alongside each, until Dave once again tries to elicit a response from his grey-skinned companion.   
“What are you doing tonight?”  
Karkat lurches, and stares wide-eyed at Dave. There is no reply, and the aforementioned blonde continues to bag and tag some useless stuff, trying very hard not to look like his heart is trying to claw its way from his chest. Nervous? Dave? Nah, nope, ridiculous.  
Well, maybe.

“Y’know, out of professional curiosity, since Rose is going out with her girlfriend and sitting at home is waaay lame tonight, but grabbing dinner by yourself? Screams pathetic dontchya think? Anyways, I’m hot, and you’re not bad yourself, so today I think the end result won’t be terribly-”  
“Are you asking me out,” Karkat interrupts. Dave stubbornly refuses to look at him, trying to imagine the flat tone as not-upset.  
“Maybe.”  
“...You can-”

The reply, whether acceptance or rejection, is never given a chance to come to fruition. A cry of ‘MEDIC!’ slices through the air with alarming volume. Rushing from where they crouch, the two move into the hallway where a handful of people are standing by, two crouching and supporting someone who has collapsed on the ground. Nepeta is one of them, Karkat notes, mind hazy and refusing to look at the limp cause of concern. Beside her, someone from clean up is checking the victim’s pulse- the victim. The victim is so harsh a word, since KArkat knows who that is, knows the stupid glasses and the purple streak of hair and the clothes he painstakingly picks out because that’s his partner dammit, that’s Eridan and the world falls away.  
Air refuses to cooperate with Karkat’s lungs, and his hand grasps blindly for the wall because there is no injured person, and even he with his bloodshot, red eyes can see the death coating the body. Numb, the troll finds himself being ushered from the room, warm hands supporting him. Outside, the light is blinding and it’s too loud, too bright, too muchtoomuchtoomuch-  
“Karkat, please, common man, you gotta talk-”

The troll shakes his head, waving off hovering hands. The passenger seat of the car isn’t comfortable, but he can’t think, can’t breath and it’ll do because he needs to bury his head in his hands- and so he does. Shaky, rattling breaths are wracking his frame with unnecessary discomfort, and there’s a warm rubbing his back, awkwardly trying to offer support (and he needs that right now oh god).  
 _Think logically Karkat, come on, get a hold of yourself. If you can’t talk then THINK analyze what you’ve seen and make sense of it, come ON._  
One thing about trolls with aquatic mutation is that when they die, their gills and fins lost the mild colouring at the tips, and retract, lying flat like wilting plants. So the body inside was definitely a body but what happened? Everything was too fast, and somewhere beyond Karkat’s thoughts, an ambulance siren wails and gets further away, there’s someone asking if he’s alright and then movement and no- no he can’t think. Not now, not about this. 

Dave drives forwards with concern blazing behind his shades. Beside him, Karkat hasn’t spoken a word, just shaken and breathed these terrible, raspy breaths. One hand on the wheel, the blonde refuses to lift his hand from the actually really bony back of the smaller police officer. For a second, the ramshackle state of Karkat’s general appearance added to a few other factors makes Dave question his financial state, but then the troll in question heaves with a desperate need for air and Dave pulls over next to his place.   
The battle to get Karkat inside is one that takes a momentous twenty minutes. Finally, the pair manage to ascend the elevator (never stairs) into Dave and his older brother’s apartment. Karkat is parked on the couch and a pizza ordered and a half-funny, half-terrible movie put on.

It takes three hours and a second movie for the troll to speak.  
“What happened?”  
Karkat’s voice is small, and almost spooks Dave. His sharpened teeth are surprisingly close to Dave’s neck, and for a second the taller of the two has a ‘holy shit’ moment, wondering when his arm got around Karkat’s neck and the latter’s head on his chest. Blanking for a moment, he realizes he has yet to answer the question.   
“Someone poisoned him, in his coffee.”  
Pale fingers navigate through matted black hair, calming. Karkat lets loose a weak chuckle.  
“That same damn Starbucks shit he drin- drank.”   
There is a stutter that Dave barely catches, but the movie has died down and all of his attention is now on Karkat (not that it wasn’t before).   
“Karkat…”  
“If you’re about to fucking apologize I will split open your idiotic excuse for a head.”  
There is vigour once more in his voice, and a low snarl underlines the words (fucking trolls man). Dave chuckles.  
“Who, me? Apologize? Never, you will never have to worry about that. Regret is for children with broken up ice creams cones.”  
A red tinged glare ends Dave’s thoughts and he can’t look away from the intensity of Karkat’s presence, gaze, everything. A cherry red snaps out and moistens dry, slate lips. Despite the grief that clings to the lines on Karkat’s face, and the dim light that highlights his exhaustion, in that moment there is nothing more beautiful than this little grey miracle.  
And when Dave presses his lips to Karkat’s, there is nothing more amazing.

 

No one says anything when the two come into work together, when Karkat hangs around Dave a bit more- there are still insults and arguments, of course, but they are no longer between partners but something more. when Karkat reaches his desk, Dave moves first for the bouquet that sits, mockingly on the bare space. Anger burns like an out of control wildfire in Karkat’s eyes as he snags the flower, black and purple and mocking, _mockingly_ claiming condolences. 

A note stares up, glaring, burning. 

 

_’Mon dieu souvenir son sacrifice’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mon dieu se souvenir son sacrifice - My god will remember his sacrifice
> 
> Morbid? Oui.  
> Our mystery shadow is revealed in the next chapter. Commets, Kudos, or anything is/are appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is Vampydefenderoftherealm.


End file.
